The Other Strangers
by LightningsShadow118
Summary: What if the Stranger weren't alone on MYST Island? What if he found... other Strangers? -Cyan, Isabelle, Fae and Rio-


Myst Island was as calm as it had been since the dawn of the Ages. The ocean lapped at the orange-brown rocks, the sandy earth, and the stained wood of the dock. Gentle breezes played with lush grass that never withered. The oak trees towered above like vigilant guardians, staring down at the clock tower with a superior air. All was quiet, and all was at peace.

A strange noise rolled from within the sister mountain's enormous gears. There was a pause, and then the hollow monument rolled on its axis to expose the Linking Book it held.

Also within the gear, there stood a Stranger. He was a mature, lanky fellow with a soft face and honest, sea foam eyes. His hair was a rare, pure blonde that rivaled silk of any thread count, falling smoothly around his eyes and ears like a crown. He wore a bright blue tunic with collar and cuffs of orange, navy leggings, and slate-gray colonial-style boots that were folded at the rims. He wore a brown belt with a gilded clasp over his tunic. Over his shoulder hung a ring-knot satchel, also slate-gray.

The Stranger winced as day light hit his eyes. As he emerged from the gear his steps were stiff and tentative. He cast a wide-eyed glance over his shoulder at the gears, then hastened down the concrete steps.

'Mental note,' he thought. 'Never trust a man with an electric cage, a collection of poison, and a crate full of mangled bodies.'

He shuddered. Mechanical was one Age he wouldn't be visiting again for a _long_ time. He needed something calm; a peaceful Age that focused on logic and puzzles instead of searching and finding... and getting scarred for life by what you accidentally discover.

The Stranger didn't need to think for his feet to find his haven, the Planetarium. The wooden planks and healthy grass glazed over his subconscious as he found the shadowy, stout building. Once within, he pressed the button on the wall to turn out the lights. The ceiling lit up with stars. The Stranger smiled and his stiffness vanished.

He made himself comfortable as best he could and considered his choices. He could stay on Myst Island until his nerves settled down. Selenetic was uncomfortably foggy, almost completely search-and-find, and surreal. Probably cold, too. Stoneship wasn't an option; the Age was consumed in an eternal thunderstorm, which wasn't what his nerves needed. Channelwood was also foggy, but the Age's entire foundation was built on the hydromechanics puzzle; a definite plus.

The Stranger yawned and stretched. In the Planetarium, the day was out. He could explore later; for now, he needed to rest.

Although after his trip through Mechanical, it was questionable whether or not he would be _able_ to rest.

I*~*I—I*~*I

Channelwood was never totally quiet. Frogs from somewhere within the swamp croaked to one another endlessly. Up in the treetops the wind whistled through the tree-huts and rope bridges, which creaked rather _loudly._

This Age was alive, even in stillness.

A new sound penetrated the croaking, creaking, and whistling just then; the sound of Linking.

A figure materialized in the air, frozen in space near Channelwood's island. The moment it fully Linked though, the figure fell into the foggy waters below. The splash was massive.

When the water settled, the figure was thrashing and struggling for dear life, only barely managing to surface. It gasped and coughed, kicked and reached for something — _anything_ — to grab on to.

Its powerful kicks were rewarded. The figure, unbeknownst to it, managed to push itself into the shallow waters near the island. It felt the mud floor beneath its shoes as it thrashed, and then its hands also met murky mud. The feeling tripped a spark of familiarity in its mind – climbing. This snapped it out of its deep fear just enough to focus it on utilizing that familiarity. One limb over the other, it climbed out of the water and onto the mucky land's shore.

This other Stranger collapsed onto her stomach, gasping and panting for air. Droplets sprinkled down from the tips of her brown hair as if it were a leaky shower head. She was freezing, but she didn't care; she was _out of the water._

Of all the places for her to fall, why in water?

The other Stranger's heart calmed after what felt like hours. The mud on her hands, arms, shoes, and legs was mostly dry, and it clung uncomfortably. When it grew unbearably irritating, she stood and scraped off most of the muck with her hands. She wasn't clean by any means, but at least she wasn't oozing globs of mud.

She was a wiry, pale Stranger. Her hair was a deep brown that hung around her face and shoulders straight, and had a ratty, jagged cut. She wore a swamp green, short-sleeved shirt with brown hemming, and matching green and brown shorts. Fingerless gloves covered her hands and browned, laceless sneakers adorned her feet. A weighty, mud brown satchel hung on her shoulder.

Once she gathered herself, this other Stranger examined the Age surrounding her. Thick, healthy trees grew right from the water; a swamp. There were sturdy wooden paths built over the water, so people dwelled, or had once dwelled, here. The metal pipelines running along the paths meant that said people weren't by any means primitive.

She shook her hair and readjusted her satchel, then beamed with a cautious fascination at the Age that lay before her. Her eyes then wandered to the little island she had washed up on. The pipe led here... and the uphill path was simply _beckoning_ her to come and explore.

She did love to explore.


End file.
